


Timê

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-07
Updated: 2009-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Gabe first met William in Mesopotamia, during what would later be considered 2371 BCE.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Timê

**Author's Note:**

> For my beloved [](http://cupiscent.livejournal.com/profile)[**cupiscent**](http://cupiscent.livejournal.com/) in the [](http://drawn-to.livejournal.com/profile)[**drawn_to**](http://drawn-to.livejournal.com/) exchange. Every word of this, from start to finish, is for her. Thanks to [](http://tabbyola.livejournal.com/profile)[**tabbyola**](http://tabbyola.livejournal.com/) for her thoughts, [](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/profile)[**adellyna**](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/) for the beta, and [](http://sinuous-curve.livejournal.com/profile)[**sinuous_curve**](http://sinuous-curve.livejournal.com/) for devoting so much energy to making sure every word was the right one.

_anything may take place at any time, for love does not care for time or order. – Kama Sutra_

  


 _Prelude_

  
Gabe first met William in Mesopotamia, during what would later be considered 2371 BCE. Gabe was tanned from Egypt, walking barefoot along the banks of the river. William was pale-skinned and incongruous in the desert, effortlessly thwarting the efforts of the band of locals attempting to take him prisoner for slave labor.

Gabe leaned against a tree for a while and watched as the Mesopotamians mounted offense after offense, each time either seeming to forget their goal before it was achieved or simply to be foiled by thin air. Eventually he got bored of that and wandered over to make conversation.

“You know,” he said casually, “eventually they’re going to figure out what you’re doing isn’t possible and either go insane or try to burn you as a witch.”

William looked up at him, outwardly careless, but Gabe had no doubt that he’d been as easily identified as William had been, in spite of the Egyptian sun on his skin. “This is still a time of believing in gods,” William responded, once more confusing his attackers in mid-strike without lifting a finger. A man wielding a long-handled spade dropped it to the ground and stared in bewilderment, as if trying to remember what it was. William watched him with a certain predatory fondness and said, “They’ll just assume that’s what I am.”

Gabe hooked a thumb into the cloth tied around his waist. “They wouldn’t be wrong,” he pointed out.

William smiled, not quite as sharp as his gaze. “Not quite.”

“Close enough.” Gabe broke their mutual evaluation to address the Mesopotamians, directing them further down the river. They still looked puzzled when they turned their attention him, confused by his intervention, but they took the logical explanation that he offered – they always did – and left in peace.

“You were telling stories,” William said. “Yesterday evening, near the ziggurat.” He tilted his head in a way that reminded Gabe of the cats of Egypt, gods in feline form. Graceful limbs, narrowed eyes, sleek strength and agility. Gabe had seen dozens of them in Egypt, praised for their speed and skill in killing cobras. Gabe kept both his smile and his distance.

“I’m there every night,” Gabe affirmed. Then, “I didn’t see you there.” He would have remembered if he had. William was not one to fade into a crowd, and Gabe had an unusually sharp eye. Last night he’d told the Epic of Gilgamesh for a throng of workers weary from their day of labor, drumming accompaniment to the tale of the King of Uruk and his companion Enkidu: How they sought out and defeated Humbaba, the guardian of the forests, and found Utnapishtim, the only survivor of the great flood. It was a popular story, and Gabe told it well. He’d made eye contact with nearly every person there, all of them hanging on his words. William had not been among them.

“Maybe I didn’t want to be seen,” William replied. He shifted just enough to give Gabe a glimpse of the battered cymbals strung over his shoulder, and added, “Sizing up the competition.”

Gabe snorted. “Flattered as I am,” he said honestly, “you’re hardly competition.”

It was an easy boast to make when he hadn’t heard William play or tell stories, knowing nothing more than what William was – what they both were. He said it for the reaction, and William’s stiffened shoulders and sharply raised chin didn’t disappoint. It was brief, though, veiled in the next moment by practiced insouciance.

“I hardly think you’d be an objective judge,” William returned; drawled, almost, with an indifference Gabe found impressive.

“We could let the people decide,” Gabe suggested, his smile all white teeth and charm. “A friendly little contest between demi-deities.”

“I’m leaving for Dilmun,” William told him, though the look in his eyes suggested he was tempted, either out of curiosity or pride. “Although I suppose you could come along. Or we could settle this now, by the temple.”

There was something about William that intrigued him, and not just the fact that Gabe hadn’t seen another like him in hundreds of years. The idea of telling rival stories tonight near the limestone temple for a few short hours and then having William disappear in the morning wasn’t as tempting as it might have been. They were immortal, after all. A sing-off that lasted for one evening was negligible on the grand scale.

“One contest is hardly fair, though,” Gabe decided, grinning wide and harmless. “Hardly a challenge. Let’s make it the best out of seven. It’s an auspicious number, isn’t it?”

William’s eyes were amused and knowing, although Gabe didn’t think he knew everything just yet. “You just know I’ll win here,” he said, confident without being arrogant. He must have had quite a following already, to be that certain. As if reading his mind, William smiled wider and added, “They do already think I’m a god.”

“We’re not starting here,” Gabe said, tapping his fingers lightly on one of William’s cymbals for emphasis.

William raised an eyebrow in silent enquiry. “Pray tell,” he drawled politely.

“North,” Gabe said, decisive. He stared off into the distance, making calculations of culture and growth, and said, “Give it a few hundred years. When they’ve begun recording music and words into the history books. When there _are_ history books.”

William studied him for a moment longer, and then held out his hand. “I accept your challenge,” he said formally. Gabe clasped him at the wrist, and squeezed just tight enough to feel the eternal beat of William’s pulse beneath his skin.

And that was how it began.

-

  


-

 _Corinth, 609 B.C.E._

  
Gabe fell in love with Greece. He loved the attitude, the art, the appreciation for debate and ideas, and most of all, the poetry. He spent years traveling between cities, garnering invitations to private homes where he could listen to all that the culture had to offer. He never forgot about William, but it did slip to the back of his mind, lost in the other experiences.

It slipped back to the forefront when he heard about the newest poet making the rounds in Corinth. Or, more accurately, when Gabe showed up to dinner at the home of an art-loving aristocrat and saw the poet in question.

“What a surprise,” Gabe drawled, delighted both by William’s presence and the spark of competition that flared as soon as he saw the lyre in William’s hands.

“Not all that much of a surprise,” William replied, giving Gabe a measuring look. “They’ve been recording songs on scrolls for decades now; you’re actually late.”

“I said north,” Gabe equivocated pleasantly. “This is more northwest.”

William rolled his eyes, but offered his wine cup to Gabe in what was clearly a gesture of forgiveness. “Tonight, then?” he inquired, and Gabe saw the same flash of eagerness in his eyes.

“You’re already reading, from what I hear,” Gabe agreed amiably. “I suppose I could borrow a lyre and make it an informal game.”

“After dinner, then,” William confirmed, and Gabe toasted him with his own wine cup. William looked as if he were struggling against rolling his eyes again when he turned away to find a new cup, which just made Gabe grin into his newly-acquired wine and vow to make him do it again. Preferably soon, and as many times as possible.

“So,” Gabe said cheerfully, once William was once more in possession of a drinking vessel. “Besides me, what brings you to Corinth?”

“The music,” William answered, which wasn’t a surprise at all, considering what they both were. “And the poetry. They’re refining it, making it into a discipline. This culture appreciates art.”

They did. They also appreciated the patrons of art, and the various deities and demi-deities that came along with that appreciation.

“They’ve given us a name here,” Gabe said approvingly. He liked the recognition, the sound of it on his tongue. “ _Mousai_.”

“They’ve made us all women,” William replied, sounding less approving and more annoyed at the mistake.

“They’re human,” Gabe said forgivingly, even more gracious than usual with the taste of dates and honey on his tongue. “They are occasionally stupid.”

“And we’re letting them judge us,” William remarked, ironic but not ill-spirited. He took a final sip from his wine cup, licked his lips, and inquired with a perfectly-arched eyebrow, “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Gabe agreed, and clapped his hands for attention.

-

Gabe was a good lyrist. He was an even better iambic, but this was a social event above the mundane, everyday gatherings, and he’d never compete with William if he opted for iambic. It was either elegy or lyric, then, and Gabe knew exactly how good he wasn’t when it came to elegy, so lyric it was.

He told stories about traveling, about meeting people and leaving them, about the road leading him on. There were enough murmurs in the room to tell him his reputation in Corinth was about to be made, which was always a good feeling, and his fingers on the lyre strings didn’t fumble once.

He presented William’s borrowed instrument with a bow and a flourish, and resisted the urge to tweak one of the strings just enough to put it out of tune, in spite of the gleeful satisfaction he would earn by provoking William’s ire. There was no way William wouldn’t notice, and besides, Gabe wasn’t about to cheat at this.

William perched on the couch, reclining to the perfect artistic degree, and plucked the first chord.

Gabe kept one eye on their audience to see how William’s poetry was being received, but after the second verse, he didn’t need to anymore. William’s poems were about love and loss and rebirth, deeply personal and gut-achingly honest, and Greeks ate that shit up with a spoon. There were no murmurs, but only because the room was silent, rapt attention on the poet strumming his lyre and pouring his heart out at their feet.

Gabe chalked up their mental tally from this first round, and then he was free to turn his complete attention to William.

The reading lasted through another five verses, William’s voice lilting melodically along with the meter, and then the audience declared him the poet of the evening and William’s gaze caught Gabe’s with a spark of triumph, the first sign he’d shown that he was aware of the competition at all.

“Fine,” Gabe said, once William had beat off most of his admirers and found his way back to their corner of the room. “You win Corinth at poetry. But,” he held up a finger, grinning widely, “how are you at Kottabos?”

-

William was a terrible Kottabos player. He was so terrible, in fact, that Gabe nearly screwed up his first throw because he was laughing so hard at the fact that William’s wine lees had not only missed the plastinx, but also now decorated the clothing of an unwary spectator.

“Shut up,” William muttered, and Gabe just laughed harder because William didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk. He was relaxed, definitely, loose-limbed and so gracefully inebriated that Gabe was having thoughts about entertainments for the rest of the night, but he wasn’t intoxicated enough to have an excuse for how horrible his throw had been.

Gabe drained his bowl down to the dregs and tossed the remaining latax with perfect accuracy. The plastinx hit the manes with a clear, resonant bell-chime of success, and Gabe whooped in victory. William made a disgruntled noise and sat up, looking for another bowl of wine.

“Now, now,” Gabe chided, leaning in and waggling his eyebrows. “Moderation in all things. Was that not your third bowl?”

William eyed him with deep mistrust. “That was your fifth,” he accused.

“Yes, but _I_ ,” and then he had to pause because he was laughing, “am not so abysmal at Kottabos that I can’t play it after only three bowls of watered wine.”

The look on William’s face suggested that his next latax would be aimed more directly at Gabe’s face than the plastinx. This, understandably, did absolutely nothing to deter Gabe’s teasing.

“It’s all in the wrist,” he murmured, leaning in close. “I can show you.”

William’s eyes flicked to his hands, his fingers, and then back to his face. “I’m sure you’re quite the expert,” he agreed.

Across from them, the two men who had been engaging in conversation and flirtation were now kissing deeply, their hands moving beneath each other’s chitons in a way that was difficult to mistake. Gabe drew his gaze away to find William watching him, faintly smiling.

“Don’t think I don’t know why you picked Greece,” William said, but without a hint of reproach in his voice.

Gabe leaned forward, still lazy but intent now that they were no longer skirting the issue. “It was always inevitable,” he replied, smoke in his voice and his look. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know it too.”

“I wouldn’t say inevitable,” William answered, head tilted to one side like a cat.

“Please,” Gabe scoffed, not without humor. The men nearby had progressed beyond hands beneath garments and were now moving roughly together, sounds of rhythmic grunting underscoring the conversation. Gabe let the anticipation warm his blood, allowing the heat to creep into his voice when he spoke. “How badly do you want me right now?”

William continued studying him for a long moment. Gabe reached out, his fingers skittering across the back of William’s hand. William’s lips curled up as he yielded, light touching his eyes and sparking in Gabe’s fingertips. “I assume you have a room?”

-

There was something to be said for the common folk wisdom that exhorted practice for the increase of skill and eventual perfection. Gabe was living proof of that, of course, but he’d never yet had the pleasure of bringing someone else into his bed who’d also had several thousand years’ worth of experience practicing this particular art.

He’d definitely been missing out.

“Let’s forget the competition,” Gabe suggested, when they were both finally sated and too drowsy to continue. “Let’s stay right here and never leave this bed again.”

William laughed, hair falling over his eyes and spilling onto Gabe’s shoulder. He looked younger without the weight of civilization and status hanging on him like a cloak. “You’re just worried now,” William murmured, eyes dancing, “because I’m winning.”

Gabe’s muscles ached all over, but not so much that he couldn’t still roll William beneath him, and he did. “One round,” he countered, holding firm for all of a moment before giving in to the urge to nuzzle William’s earlobe. He took it lightly between his teeth, tugging at it gently before adding, “I still have six rounds to trounce you.”

“If we’re playing for the best out of seven,” William mused, tilting his head back to allow Gabe better access to his long, pale throat, “wouldn’t that mean you would only have to win the next four?”

Gabe paused in the middle of leaving a wine-red mark on William’s neck. “In that case,” he decided, “I’ll have to throw the next two matches.”

William’s fingernails dug into the bunched muscle of his shoulders, clutching like the talons of a hawk. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said warningly, threaded through with the certainty that Gabe’s pride would never allow it.

“Maybe not,” Gabe agreed. “But that just means you’ll have to fight harder to keep up with me.”

William’s body arched against his, dragging sweat-smooth and warm along his skin. “I think I’m doing pretty well so far,” he commented, almost a satisfied purr.

Gabe’s hand was conveniently trapped between them, splayed across William’s bare stomach. It only had to slide a few inches to find and press, to make William’s eyes widen again. “I thought you were finished,” he teased, punctuating with a touch to make his point.

One of William’s legs wrapped around his hip, heel sliding into the crevice of his buttocks. “Are you too tired?” he asked, gaze mockingly sympathetic. His foot dipped slightly lower, applying enough pressure to pull Gabe down against him into full contact.

Gabe found that they weren’t quite so drowsy yet, after all.

-

  


-

 _Ecbatana, 330 B.C.E._

  
William was younger in Persia, dark-eyed and graceful. He was also, much to Gabe’s amusement, currently serving as a pleasure slave in the Persian royal court.

“How did this even happen?” Gabe asked once he’d finally straightened up from being doubled-over with laughter. The cross look on William’s face, coupled with the chains around his wrists, did nothing to help Gabe keep a straight face.

“How do you think it happened?” William asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “There’s a Macedonian upstart marching across the empire; you may have heard of him.”

“You could break any of their tiny little brains with a single thought,” Gabe pointed out, perching on a bench nearby while they spoke. William, he surmised, was among the slaves meant to serve the wine at this evening’s supper, but Gabe had chosen to wear his wealth on his sleeve this century, and the slave-master didn’t look particularly upset to have him showing an interest in the goods.

“Yes, well, it’s really not all that bad,” William admitted grudgingly. “Persian slaves are protected under the law, and while it may not be the most pleasant way to pass the decade, I have the advantage of being able to break tiny little brains if anyone tries anything. And it’s better in here than it is out there, even for free men.”

William shuddered, and Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “Were you at Persepolis?” Gabe asked, low but with more than a hint of steel underneath it. He’d heard stories of what had happened to the Persians there, to satisfy the Greek armies.

“No,” William said shortly. He relaxed slightly and added, “Sikandar didn’t allow them to touch the palace. I would have been all right.”

In spite of himself and the dark turn their conversation had taken, Gabe found himself cracking a smile. “You’ve been among the Persians too long,” he chided. “Say it with me: Al-ex-an-der.”

“Fuck off,” William returned primly, and Gabe grinned at him.

“So,” he said, leering a little for effect. “How are we going to work the current circumstances into our little friendly match of skills?”

William arched an eyebrow at him. “I play the pipes tonight after dinner,” William informed him. “What did you think I was doing here, exactly? I’m not a soldier; I wasn’t at Gaugamela, either.”

“Believe me,” Gabe said sincerely, “that’s not what I thought you were doing here.”

The scowl resulting from this statement made Gabe briefly question whether Darius had been foolish to leave such a high-spirited slave behind, serving wine and playing pipes. Then again, High King or no High King, he suspected William would end up doing exactly as he wished regardless of anyone else’s desires.

“Tonight,” William said flatly. “Bring an instrument.”

Gabe rose, giving William an exaggerated once-over just to see indignation flare while William was handily chained to a post. “Don’t worry,” he promised. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

-

William wiped the floor with him. It wasn’t even a fair contest: Gabe knew half a dozen Persian songs and the basics of each popular instrument; William had been playing every night at banquets for the royal personage, whenever he was in residence, for the past handful of years.

William knew the rules of the songs, he knew how to express the appropriate mood for the song through his vocal styling, and which moods were appropriate to which songs. He could play the pipes _while dancing_ , which felt a lot like rubbing it in, because Gabe’s performance had garnered a polite round of applause, while the entire assembly was visibly undressing William with their eyes from the second he stood up to play.

Gabe spent the rest of the evening sulking and pretending he wasn’t doing anything of the sort, right up until the point when the slaves were led out and he saw William being cuffed again in delicate but clearly serviceable chains. That hadn’t factored into his plans for this visit. Alexander was marching for Ecbatana, and the city clearly couldn’t put up much of a fight; if he didn’t lose sight of William after tonight, he most certainly would once the Macedonians arrived.

Gabe finished his wine. Then he went to see the slave-master.

-

William looked up when he came in, eyes confused and startled. “What…?”

Gabe drew the chain free of its metal ring, flipped it to wrap around his wrist and pulled it taut in the process, drawing William up from the mat onto his knees. He flicked the chain again just because he could, and William’s arms rose in front of him, wrists bound together and leashed, captive.

“I bought you,” Gabe announced gleefully. “You’re mine now. Up you go, I have a room.”

William didn’t mistake the change of ownership for liberation. Gabe had always known he was clever. His eyes narrowed when he rose, graceful even after the hours of limited mobility. “This is stooping low even for you,” he remarked, but he didn’t resist when Gabe pulled the chain taut again to draw him forward.

Gabe gave himself a moment of indulgence to look his fill, and then tucked one finger beneath William’s strong, stubborn chin, turning his face up. “It’s been three hundred years since the last time I tasted you,” he murmured, inches from William’s parted lips. “I think I can be forgiven a little stooping for that.”

-

“Fuck,” Gabe gasped, half an hour later in the dubious privacy of his own room, firelight dancing across the walls and in front of his eyes. “Oh, _fuck,_ what have they been teaching you in this century?”

“I’m trying to show you,” William replied, with that perfect grace note of annoyance in his voice that made Gabe’s bones thrum. “If you would just stop _moving._ ”

-

“You’re not staying,” Gabe said a long time afterward, when they were both dressed appropriately for Persian modesty. “If Alexander does to Ecbatana what he did to Persepolis, there’s no telling what could happen. Even to you.”

“He won’t,” William said wearily, holding his hair off his neck to let the sweat dry. “He’s made his point. Ecbatana won’t resist him.”

“I don’t care,” Gabe replied quite reasonably. “You’re still coming with me.”

“Maybe,” William answered noncommittally. “Are you still planning to go east?”

“That’s where he’ll turn next,” Gabe deduced, flopping back down onto the pallet they’d made such athletic use of earlier on. “If I stay ahead of him, I’ll be able to collect songs before they’re swallowed into the rising empire.”

“India,” William agreed, and Gabe wondered if he’d been there already, if he’d seen the wonders of mountains and elephant-kings that Gabe had only heard stories of thus far.

“India,” Gabe confirmed, reaching out to draw William back down to him, guiding him by his elbows onto the pallet. He kissed William’s mouth, pulled at his wrists until he let his hands fall away and his hair fall back down against his neck. “You could ride an elephant.”

William laughed, and Gabe knew the answer even before he said it aloud. “India isn’t big enough for both of us, even with the elephants. I’m safe enough; I’ll wait until Sikandar’s people are here and then I’ll travel back to Athens.”

It wasn’t a plan Gabe could argue with easily; William could handle himself, and Athens was a bright place right now, even as a conquered city. “Where are we meeting after this, then?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

William shrugged, relaxed and pliant. “Tell me,” he offered. “I’ll be there.”

Gabe cast his mind over the cities he knew now, estimating what they would become and where Alexander’s eye would turn if he remained unchecked. “Rome,” he said finally. It was holding its own against rebellion and attack, and more importantly, it wasn’t in the east. “If it stays in one piece, I’ll meet you in Rome.”

William stood up to go, stooping to kiss him once more before he left. “Rome it is.”

-

  


-

 _Rome, 410 C.E._

  
Rome, as it turned out, was not the best choice. No one was interested in music, largely because the city was being sacked by Visigoths and the empire was finally in ashes.

“You pick next time,” Gabe panted as they hid beneath a doorway to dodge the debris falling in flames from the sky, heavy with soot and smoke. “Clearly I’m not making the best decisions.”

William hummed thoughtfully. His hand was still clasped in Gabe’s, where they’d grasped onto each other to avoid being separated in the chaos. It wasn’t strictly necessary any longer, but Gabe wasn’t planning on reminding William of that fact anytime soon.

“Maybe we should head east,” William suggested, his eyes on the wall of fire engulfing the city. “I’d like to see Byzantium.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Gabe promised. “Another seven hundred years, give or take?”

“Give or take,” William agreed. He cocked his head as he glanced sideways, full of youth and mischief. “What do you think? Shall we make a run for it?”

-

  


-

 _Kiev, 1086 C.E._

  
Gabe ran into William a hundred years ahead of schedule, in Kiev. He’d been working his way steadily toward Constantinople and the Volga River, stopping here and there as fancy struck him, and Kiev was one of the jewels of the east. He couldn’t simply pass it by.

It made sense that William had followed the same logic, but it was still a surprise to see him in front of one of the magnificent churches, speaking earnestly and somberly with a young woman. She bobbed to him and ran off a moment later. William looked up and saw Gabe, the same shock of recognition lighting his eyes. It was followed by a slow, curling smile, and Gabe took that as his cue to saunter across the road and offer a friendly greeting.

“Funny meeting you here, in a time like this,” Gabe said cheerfully. William looked older than the last time Gabe had seen him. It wasn’t much, just the beginning of age-lines at the corners of his eyes and the sleek look of lost baby fat. Gabe tended to stay the same, pretty much all the time; he wondered if William aged constantly, if he looped back to childhood so he could stay in one place longer and learn their songs. He wondered if William waited through the infirmity of old age, or if he grew weary of the aches and pains and slipped back into youth before his time was up.

“You’re early,” William said with a smile, shading his eyes against the sun until Gabe came close enough for it not to matter. “Although I suppose we did say give or take.”

“Maybe I just couldn’t wait any longer to see you,” Gabe said roguishly, tipping him a wink. He hadn’t known William would be here, of course, but it still wasn’t entirely untrue.

Gabe lived his life to the fullest; he slept with people and fell in love when the mood struck him and enjoyed the company of a great number of mortals along the way. It was just that William held a certain…charm.

“You’re traveling as a vikingr?” William asked, curious. His gaze took in Gabe’s Norse clothes, and his delicate sniff likely meant he was taking in the smell of weeks on the water as well.

“Have my own longship and everything,” Gabe affirmed. “I started out on a knarr, but they don’t tend to make it this far east.”

“Well,” William said with overacted politeness, “they do have to make a lot of stops along the way to sack, loot and pillage.”

“Such cynicism,” Gabe chided, grinning. “I’ll have you know I’m spreading _culture_ while I loot and pillage.”

William laughed, and Gabe took another step toward him, drawn closer by the light in his eyes and the way he tipped his face down slightly when he smiled, so that when he looked up it was through his lashes.

“Hey,” Gabe said, and his tone was light but the intent beneath it was definitely not. “Why don’t we put off the contest until tomorrow, and catch up tonight? I’ll recite _Battle of Maldon_ , just for you. A private reading. It’s all the rage in the frozen north.”

William raised his head and Gabe didn’t bother to wait for an answer, stepping in and cradling William’s jaw in one hand, fingers sliding sure and familiar into place even after more than six hundred years apart.

“I’m not in any hurry to get to Constantinople,” Gabe murmured. “And did I mention that I have a boat?” He was just bending his head to taste William’s mouth when it unexpectedly evaded him, turning slightly to the side.

“I can’t,” William said, shaking his head. Gabe was brought to a full and confused stop in a matter of seconds.

“What?” he asked, just shy of incredulous. “Why?” He’d never entertained the idea of William having another lover in his life, or at least not one that he’d become attached to. He supposed he should have considered it, especially since he was dropping in on an unscheduled visit.

William could apparently see what he was thinking, though, because he just shook his head again and looked at Gabe a little ruefully. “Not that,” he said, and only then did Gabe realize what he was wearing.

“Oh no, not you too,” Gabe groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “ _Christianity?_ You’re a fucking _monk?_ ”

William hardly looked as abashed as he ought to, considering. “They encourage learning and the arts,” he pointed out. “No one else does, these days. Ideas aren’t precisely flourishing.” He picked an invisible piece of lint off his sleeve, looking annoyed.

“You’re a _monk,_ ” Gabe repeated. “Do you know what they’d do to you if they knew what you were? You don’t even exist in their religion.”

“They wouldn’t do anything,” William argued. “They’re a very peaceful group. They’d probably just turn me out and pray for me a lot. And it’s not as if I can’t take care of myself.” He cocked a challenging eyebrow at Gabe, somehow recalling the first day they met with a single look.

Gabe sighed. “You’re not creating anything, are you?” he asked. “You’re copying religious texts and stories of holy people.”

“I wrote a travelogue,” William said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “They’re very popular. I could write more, but they’d be suspicious of the timeline.”

“You don’t look several thousand years old at all,” Gabe agreed. It was intriguing idea, though, a travelogue. He could learn all the places his life had nearly intersected with William’s, how many places they’d been, scant decades apart.

“They sing,” William said, more seriously. “I want to sing.”

Gabe shook his head. “I can’t compete with you like this,” he complained. “What are we going to do, see whether the monks like your scripture reading or mine? Sing religious songs?”

“I don’t know,” William admitted contemplatively. “It’s not a very competitive lifestyle.”

Gabe threw his hands up in the air. “It’s useless,” he declared. “I demand a rematch. Back in the west, once they’ve all stopped hiding in castles and started creating things again.”

William’s smile was far too knowing. “You’re just annoyed because I’m a monk.”

“You’re a fucking _monk!_ ” Gabe yelled back over his shoulder as he stomped off. William’s laughter rippled behind him, familiar even after six centuries of absence. Gabe hoped civilization got its act together soon, because he could only be patient for so long.

-

  


-

 _Toledo, 1217 C.E._

  
By the time William showed up on the Iberian Peninsula, Gabe had established himself quite thoroughly as a troubadour and was enjoying all the relative comforts of that position in a location as wealthy and diverse as the imperial city.

He was, therefore, in an excellent position to witness the arrival of a new, traveling troubadour who looked astonishingly familiar.

“What took you so long?” Gabe asked, grinning as he came down to meet William by the city walls.

William had a fiddle under his arm, a pack slung over one shoulder, and had somehow managed to remain ten shades paler than everyone else currently baking in the summer sun. He fit easily in Gabe’s arms and returned the hug with more fervor than such an embrace strictly required, which was fair enough, because Gabe may have been holding on a little tightly himself.

“I’ve been in Italy,” William answered, pulling back far enough for propriety but not quite enough that either of them had to let go completely. “They’ve popularized musicians and composers, in case you missed it.”

“Italy is boring,” Gabe declared. “Spain is a battleground. Hang around here, it’s fascinating. And I was in Occitania when it started, I haven’t missed a thing. _You,_ ” he chided with a huge grin, “were just late, as usual.”

“I was giving you a head start,” William replied mildly. “I have remained undefeated for nearly two millennia, after all. I thought you might need some time to practice.”

Gabe stabbed a finger in his direction. “I would have trounced you in Kiev,” he insisted. “If someone hadn’t taken _holy orders._ ”

William rolled his eyes, shifting his pack. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“A _monk,_ ” Gabe persisted, because no, he wasn’t. Anyone who took a vow of chastity after knowing what sex was like (not to mention what sex with _Gabe_ was like) was batshit insane anyway. “You’re over that now, right? Because Toledo is currently peaceful ground, compared to everything else, and I’m enjoying the prosperity.”

“I have been reduced to the ranks of the laity,” William informed him. “Explaining to the others that I’m actually an immortal pagan being didn’t go over well.”

“You told them?” Gabe said, raising both eyebrows.

William frowned a little. “Yes, well,” he said vaguely. “It had been a few years. I was starting to wrinkle.”

Gabe laughed, swinging around to steer William along by his elbow. “Let’s get you settled. You still need a place to stay? I have a great room here.”

“That would be nice,” William said, glancing at him sideways. “Are you playing tonight?”

“ _We_ are playing tonight,” Gabe corrected gleefully. “We’re doing this right, though; no composing in advance, no writing new lyrics to existing melodies, no adaptations of other songs.”

William sniffed delicately, smiling too much for it to be believable. “As if,” he said dismissively. “Not all of us started as joglars.”

“Ouch,” Gabe returned, tugging William tighter against his side. “You’re sure you’re not a monk anymore?”

“I’m sure,” William answered warily. “Why?”

“Just checking,” Gabe replied, and grinned. “You and I have some catching up to do.”

-

“Oh my god,” William breathed, head thrown back and mouth agape as Gabe moved in him. “When did you get so good at this?”

Gabe grinned, baring his teeth, and shifted just enough to tear a rough groan from William’s throat. “India,” he answered, licking the sweat from his lip and then from William’s. His tongue strayed to trace the path left by a bead trailing down the pale column of William’s throat. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Later,” William said shortly, neat-clipped fingernails digging into the meat of Gabe’s shoulders as they flexed with each slow thrust. “Right now, don’t stop.”

-

The banquet hall was packed for their impromptu musical duel, which was all well and good as far as Gabe was concerned, because the world wasn’t going to see another performance like this one for another few hundred years.

Gabe was setting up at the head of the room, only slightly distracted by the loose, relaxed swing of William’s hips as he did the same. The fact that Gabe knew exactly why William was moving like that really wasn’t helping.

He was distracted by a woman moving in their direction, naggingly familiar the same way that William was, in more ways than one. Like called to like, after all, and he’d also met her before.

Gabe recognized the tilt of her chin before he even saw her face, or put a name to the memory. Her hair was intricately braided and twisted high on her head, bowing to fashion, and she moved through the crowd with a grace that no other woman there possessed, though all wished they did and watched with undisguised envy.

“Victoria,” he and William said at the same time, and then stared at each other.

Victoria joined them with a drink in her hand and the loose, sensual sway of a confident woman in her hips. She arched perfectly-plucked eyebrows at both of them, and then laughed when they didn’t break eye contact with each other. William’s gaze had gone shuttered, suddenly unreadable. Gabe wasn’t quite sure how to explain himself. Or, more accurately, whether or not he really needed to explain, or whether he could just get away with it.

“Oh, this is adorable,” Victoria purred, which was enough to make Gabe look away from William in order to keep an eye on _her_. Her laughter rang clear as bells above the murmuring stream of voices around them, sly and amused. “You’re both jealous, because you’re not sure which one of you I’ve slept with.”

William didn’t blush easily, Gabe knew. Gabe didn’t blush at all. Between the two of them, it wasn’t the most telling moment. Accursed sirens, he thought direly. Always showing up and flashing their wiles.

Still, he could feign politeness with the best of them. “Not over you,” he informed her, smiling.

Her laugh this time was darker, richer. “Oh, I know,” she said, lips colored wine-red and curled up like a cat’s whiskers. She took a sip of her drink and added, “Which is a good thing, because I’ve had you both.”

Gabe wasn’t sure what his face was giving away, or whether the incremental shift of William’s shoulders dropping slightly meant anything. “You do get around,” he said instead, putting on his most charming smile.

She laughed at him, smoky and rich. “Not nearly as much as the two of you,” she told him. “I’m sure you’ve both seen quite a bit in your travels. It ought to be quite the contest.”

“Stay and find out,” he offered cheerfully, plucking a string on his modified pandura. A few feet away, William began tuning his fiddle with almost frightening concentration. Gabe considered Victoria, considered William, considered himself, and had a notion that was almost too brilliant to be spoken aloud.

It was on the tip of his tongue when William looked up, and he couldn’t possibly have known what Gabe was thinking (or maybe he did, because maybe they were all thinking it), but the look on his face conveyed clearly _if you say it, I will castrate you with a lute string._

“Enjoy the show,” Gabe substituted smoothly, and while Victoria’s expression told him she wasn’t fooled for a minute, at least Gabe’s testicles were still relatively safe from harm.

“I will,” she said, with another smile at William, whose gaze was so bland it was almost unsettling. She toasted them with her cup and called back over her shoulder, “Sing a song for me.”

-

“Partimen?” William asked once dinner was served, fingers poised over his instrument’s strings.

“Partimen,” Gabe agreed, with a sweeping bow. “After you.”

William tucked his fiddle under his chin and started them off with a long, sweet chord, followed by a dancing patter of shorter notes that lilted up like a question.

Then he started singing.

“Oh, you bastard,” Gabe said gleefully under his breath, and leaned back to listen.

Partimen generally took the form of a debate between two troubadours arguing opposing sides of a dilemma, and was the standard popular form of challenge in poetic contests. It was a good way of ensuring the contest was fair, because you couldn’t use something previously composed if you had to directly answer another poet’s verse. Most often the subject was courtly love, or ethics, or chivalry; topics that made Gabe yawn, but which he could invent opinions about in his sleep.

William, under the allegorical cloak of a knight leaving to fight for years in the Crusades, was posing the question of which proved truer love; faithfulness in the flesh, or constancy of the heart.

Across the room, Victoria’s eyes had sharpened with wicked delight.

Since William had chosen the topic, Gabe got first pick of which side he wished to argue. This was less than thrilling when William had backed him into the corner of hypocritically arguing for chastity (and having Victoria laugh her pretty ass off at him) or sounding like a romantic sap made impotent by overwrought emotion.

There was no way Gabe was arguing for chastity. Romantic sap it was.

He fumbled a little at first, and William – who knew all about chastity, the bastard – ran rings around him in the opening arguments, but as they went on, Gabe hit his stride and started professing love above all things and the purity of holy vows with relish. He also had the edge in composing on the fly, and his melodies were always more intricate, more novel, more fitting to his argument.

William, as it turned out, wasn’t great when put on the spot. All Gabe had to do was twist the debate back in an unexpected fashion, and William would get tripped up on his own train of logic.

They finished with closing verses to a resounding cheer of applause and cups banging heartily against wooden tables. Gabe was pronounced the winner, and he had just enough time to catch William’s eye and share a grin with him before he was being pulled into a toast to the troubadours.

Gabe made it a point never to miss a toast in his honor.

-

“You should have known you could never beat me here,” Gabe crowed, fingers still twitching the rhythm in his bones, the high sweet song of the fiddle in his ear. “This is my home turf, this is my music. These people breathe for me to sing to them.”

William managed to maintain fairly good humor in the face of his defeat, toasting Gabe with his half-filled cup and hardly even rolling his eyes. “Congratulations,” he announced. “I drink to your victory.”

Drinking sounded like a fine plan for the evening, but Gabe had a better idea. “Let’s dance,” he murmured, curling his fingers around William’s slim wrist with one hand and liberating his wine cup with the other. “To both of us. To music. To life.”

William yielded when Gabe pulled, but there was a heavy reluctance in his limbs, not unwilling but still recalcitrant. “We can’t, here,” he said, chin jutting up to encompass the hall and the energy swirling around them. “In case you haven’t noticed, the times have changed since Darius and Persia. They’ll throw us out, if they don’t simply try to kill us.”

“They can’t kill us,” Gabe breathed, still riding the high of performance, of the crowd’s unadulterated adoration pouring toward him in waves. “We’re immortal. Dance with me.”

William’s body bowed, clearly yearning the same way Gabe’s was, for the two of them to move together, to become one and lose themselves in the music they shared. His resolve was stronger than Gabe’s coaxing, though, because he pulled back a moment later, somehow breaking Gabe’s hold on his wrist with a casual twist. “No. Not here.”

“Fine.” Gabe scanned the crowd, found two girls just on the cusp of womanhood, the promise of beauty lurking in their brown skin and curved limbs. “I’ll dance with her,” he suggested, “and you dance with that one.” He let the promise of who he’d really be dancing with go unspoken; William knew what he meant.

There was still reluctance this time when he pulled, but it was less now, and William’s eyes were sparkling. “You’re a better dancer than I am,” he said.

“Of course I am,” Gabe agreed, swaying into the beat even before they’d taken three steps toward the lovely girls. “So you’d better be watching me.”

He caught the older girl’s hand and kissed it dramatically, spinning her a tale of love struck from across the room and the desperate desire to have her join him for a single dance. She laughed and smiled at him, welcoming, just the age where receiving such attention still held the thrill of the romantic and forbidden, and he pulled her out onto the floor.

When he twirled her into the chorus of guitars, he caught William’s eye and winked.

-

Sometime after the fourth celebratory drink, Victoria appeared and made herself comfortable on his knee.

“That was quite a display,” she remarked, stealing his fifth cup for herself before he could take a sip.

“That was all William,” he defended, making a grab for his drink that missed completely, probably due to the previous four. “I was a victim of circumstance.”

“I’m sure,” Victoria replied, in a tone that Gabe knew perfectly well meant she was humoring him. “And how will you be celebrating your victory?”

“Is that an offer?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her trim waist (as a precaution, just in case she fell). He knew her well enough – knew what she _was_ well enough – to know the answer to that already, but it was fun to play the game.

“Your rival seems bent on the theme of denying himself the pleasures of the flesh,” she said, resting a delicate hand on his shoulder for balance as she set his cup back – empty – on the table. “If it was an offer, it would be a better one than you’re getting from anywhere else.”

“Apparently you know better than that,” Gabe returned dryly, eyeing her. Between William’s reaction and his own firsthand knowledge of Victoria’s seduction techniques, he didn’t doubt the truth of her claim.

“People change,” she said dismissively. “It has been a few years.” Which didn’t help him with his timeline question at all. For the three of them, ‘a few years’ could mean seven or several thousand, so he still didn’t know which of them she had encountered first and when.

“Unless they change in the space of a few hours,” he told her with the wisdom of personal experience, “I think you’d find more on offer than his recent poetic argument would suggest.”

She laughed, low and warm. Her arms wound around his neck when she leaned closer, so that he could catch the scent of her perfume and see straight down the front of her gown into the soft tease of cleavage when she murmured, “I could take both of you at once.”

“You are so in the wrong lap right now,” he informed her ruefully, eyes still on her breasts. “I was convinced before you even opened your mouth.”

They both looked up at the same time, to where William was talking with a joglar and pointedly not looking at them in a way that made it patently obvious he was aware of their every move.

“Pity,” Victoria said with a small sigh. “I was looking forward to the two of you together. Although I have to admit, I have been more in the mood for female companionship of late anyway.”

Gabe groaned. “Not making it better,” he told her.

Victoria laughed again. “Go collect your wandering minstrel,” she told him. “Find me if you change your mind. Or his.”

“ _Troubadour,_ ” Gabe corrected in an aggrieved tone, bouncing her once on his knee before reluctantly releasing her. “Really, you should know better.”

She waved an uncaring hand at him, smoothing her skirt and touching a hand lightly to her perfectly-coiled braids before moving off in the distinct direction of the blushing young lady with blonde hair and wide eyes with whom Gabe had danced earlier. Gabe groaned again for good measure and went looking for William.

“Well played,” he said, leaning casually back against the banquet table. “Are you staying for a while?”

William shook his head. He wasn’t meeting Gabe’s eyes, which could have something to do with Victoria or could just as easily be because this was the first time he hadn’t come out on top. As Gabe knew, that could sting a little. “Tonight,” he answered, glancing away. “I’ll leave in the morning for Catalonia.”

“You’ll do well there,” Gabe said truthfully. “Heading for France?”

“Not sure yet,” William said, finally looking up at him and offering a slight smile. “Do I have something specific to look forward to?”

“How about Albion?” Gabe suggested, using the old name because he knew William would know it. “I haven’t been there in a while.”

“Albion it is,” William agreed easily. “I’ll see you there.”

Gabe chuckled. “You’ll see me before then,” he said, slipping his hand into the loose crook of William’s elbow to tug him sideways. “It’s not morning yet.”

-

  


-

 _Venice, 1606 C.E._

  
Gabe hadn’t been lurking, precisely, in the back of the theatre during the rehearsal, but he certainly hadn’t made his presence known. William spotted him anyway.

“I thought we said England,” he offered by way of greeting, head tilted inquiringly but smiling nonetheless. “Have you become geographically confused?”

“What, and miss this?” Gabe scoffed, pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against to come and give William a proper hug. “The rebirth of an all-musical form of drama? You must be joking. How long have you been here?”

“Seven years,” William admitted, pushing his hair back behind his ear. “I came to Italy as soon as I heard about _Dafne._ What happened to Italy being boring?”

“Welcome to the Renaissance,” Gabe replied, spreading his hands and grinning. “Italy got a lot more interesting. Not that England isn’t, but Italy has this, and it has you, so here I am.”

“Here you are,” William agreed, with a fondness Gabe didn’t think he was at all imagining. “So you’re writing an opera? Will you be premiering it against mine?”

“Better,” Gabe answered, relishing both the announcement and the look of confusion on William’s face. “I’m working on yours.”

The confusion turned instantly to wariness. “How are you working on mine?” William asked, gaze searching Gabe’s face for clues. “I’ve already finished the music and I’m writing the libretto.”

“Yes, but what you _don’t_ have,” Gabe declared jubilantly, “are intermezzi.”

William was quick on the uptake, Gabe had to admit. “You’ve been commissioned to write the intermezzi for my opera,” he said, rather than asked. “How does that arrangement work into our competition, exactly?”

Gabe hooked his thumbs into his waistband. “People love a good intermezzo,” he pointed out, enjoying the moment. It was playing out even better than he’d hoped. “Sometimes even more than the work it interrupts. I’d say it’s a fair show of skill. You have five acts of your opera, I have six intermezzi.”

“One cohesive story against six disjointed spectacles,” William said dryly, but he didn’t protest. Gabe had expected him to put up more of a fuss, but that only meant that he was confident. Well, Gabe was confident too.

“Fantastic spectacles,” he replied merrily. “Enormous, awe-inducing spectacles. I’m using dolphins and mermaids.”

“You can’t have dolphins,” William said immediately. “My opera has dolphins, you’ll ruin the surprise.”

“I need dolphins, they pull the aquatic chariot,” Gabe responded, waving his hand dismissively. “And a chorus of angels descending from the clouds.”

“You – ” William began, and then clearly reined himself in. “Very well,” he said, holding out a hand for Gabe to shake. “Let the contest begin.”

“It’s been over three thousand years since it began,” Gabe called back over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving William with his hand outstretched and looking somewhere between perplexed and incensed. “Catch me if you can, or I’ll be leaving you in the dust.”

“I’m still winning!” William called after him as the door swung shut. Gabe walked out into the sunlight grinning harder than he had in decades.

-

Gabe walked into the theatre whistling, which earned him a glare from William even before one of the gentlemen backstage mistook his songbird impression for a cue and sent a painted sun crashing into one of the sturdy platforms disguised as clouds.

“Rehearsal going well?” he asked cheerfully, swinging into an empty seat.

“Yes, thank you,” William answered, managing – to Gabe’s disappointment – to hold himself in check. “How are your spectacles coming?”

“Brilliant!” Gabe answered brightly, which was not strictly a lie. The light from the thousand floating candles surrounding the barge had been pretty radiant. The Turkish costume that had caught on fire as a result had been less so, but that was what rehearsal was for. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“The performance is in two days,” William said with perfect calm, only part of his attention on Gabe while the rest supervised the three singers climbing into a boat which Gabe divined was about to go down over the onstage waterfall.

“Right, so it is,” Gabe agreed, only mildly put out that William was refusing so steadfastly to rise to his bait. It wasn’t that he had any desire to sabotage William’s rehearsal, honestly, it was just that he was bored, and everything was more fun with William around. Wandering the city alone didn’t have the same appeal; he’d grown bored this afternoon after only two hours. “Shouldn’t you be up there? You will be performing in your work, won’t you?”

William gave him a look which suggested inaccurately that Gabe was somewhat simple. “Not in one of the leading roles,” he answered. “I prefer my anatomy intact, perfect voice or no.”

“Good. I was hoping you hadn’t decided to go castrato.” One of the men onstage gave Gabe a haughty look and a sniff, clearly dismissing him. Gabe considered giving him a lazy Italian salute in return, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Men who didn’t have their balls anymore should be pitied, not taunted. In lieu of such entertainment, Gabe waggled his eyebrows at William. “It would make certain things a lot less fun, and I seem to remember you being rather fond of them.”

“Shouldn’t _you_ be rehearsing?” William inquired, although Gabe saw the faint stain of a flush redden his throat and cheeks, so at least that comment had hit home. Good; Gabe wasn’t planning on spending his time alone tonight.

“Finished,” he answered. “Well, until tomorrow, when we get to work in the theatre for the run-through.”

William turned, waterfall forgotten, and stared at him. “There’s a complete run-through tomorrow?” he repeated.

“Yep.” Gabe leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. “That’s why I asked if you were ready for it.”

The boat tipped over the edge of the artificial waterfall nose-first, and promptly dumped all three singers out into the shallow onstage river before righting itself and bobbing away downstream. The castrati came up spluttering and inhaling water, which couldn’t be doing much for their singing voices.

“Hey,” Gabe said mock-sympathetically, watching one of the drenched singers pull himself out of the water and immediately start screaming at the man in charge of the boat, “Just remember, it all comes together in the end.”

“It’s coming together just fine,” William said firmly, raising his voice to call backstage. “Let them dry off, let’s rehearse Deianira’s wedding song.”

It took Gabe a few seconds for the name to click, but when it did, the context didn’t elude him. “You’re writing about Achelous,” he said accusingly, pointing at the river dominating the stage. “You’re writing about us.”

“The opera is about the eleventh labor of Heracles, which is perfectly sound dramatic material,” William replied, maddeningly casual for someone who was dramatizing his own life story in five acts. “There are hundreds of contests in classical mythology, and the last time I checked, we weren’t fighting over a woman.”

“You can’t win using me,” Gabe objected, as the castrato onstage began to sing about how his (or her) hero had traveled the world and been granted the greatest gifts, touched by the very gods. “That has to be cheating.”

“You wrote a song about me for the Almohads,” William countered, bringing Gabe momentarily up short. “I heard it. They sang it in Al-Andalus.”

“That was about someone else entirely,” Gabe said immediately, and didn’t meet William’s eyes when one brow arched meaningfully in his direction. “And anyway, that was different. This is for the contest.”

“It wasn’t,” William pointed out, nodding in approval as the gods descended from the cloud platforms to praise the slightly-damp Heracles and the many virtues of his new bride. “You were the one who showed up in the middle of it.”

Gabe opened his mouth and then shut it again. “You’re still cheating,” he insisted. Then he left William to his rehearsal and went to write a new afterpiece for the final intermezzo of the opera.

Someone had to make sure the story ended correctly, after all.

-

“The eleventh labor of Heracles was not meant to teach us about the bonds of friendship,” William said after the premiere, as soon as he’d found Gabe among the various members of the academies. “And Achelous was not a messenger of the gods sent to promote harmony and understanding.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gabe said glibly. “My intermezzi had nothing to do with your opera. They serve as their own contained dramatic episodes.”

“They sounded awfully familiar,” William drawled. “And the costumes they were wearing looked suspiciously like togas.”

Gabe waved a hand. “Classical fashion is all the rage,” he dismissed. “Hardly any correlation.”

William continued favoring him with that look that said _I’m onto you_ , but he didn’t have any proof and Gabe wasn’t about to give it to him, so he wisely let the matter drop. “Are we calling on someone to judge this for us?” he asked instead. “What should serve as the deciding factor?”

Everyone from the academies appeared to know William, which didn’t surprise Gabe at all. He would have been still less surprised to find that William had found his way into one years ago when all of the opera madness began.

It was a good thing, then, that Gabe didn’t need to call on them as judges. “I’ve received seven invitations to perform my intermezzi at various courts and academies across Italy,” he said, producing a handful of cards to wave in William’s direction. “How is your opera doing?”

William opened his mouth to respond, then paused and shook his head. “Excuse me,” he said politely, and set off across the room, making a beeline for the same gentlemen who’d approached Gabe about a production in Florence.

Gabe took a drink of his wine and called cheerfully after him, “Taste the dust yet?”

Gabe excelled at social commentary; William should have known better than to compete against him in a culture currently so mad for it. Another gentleman cornered him almost immediately to engage him for an entertainment across the continent in Paris. Gabe listened attentively to the new offer, and didn’t worry when he lost track of William in the crowd. It didn’t matter if they didn’t catch each other again here. They still had a standing appointment in Brittannia.

-

  


-

 _Atlantic Ocean, 1821 C.E._

  
“Welcome aboard,” the first mate said as soon as they’d pulled Gabe out of the rowboat he had been previously occupying and installed him on board one of His Majesty’s Ships.

“Yes, welcome aboard,” another voice echoed. Gabe actually had to blink a few times to make sure the sun hadn’t gotten to him, but when he’d finished William was still standing there, lounging against the rail and offering him a dry shirt.

Gabe took the proffered item of clothing slowly. “I’d like to point out that this ship is heading away from England, rather than toward it,” he said finally.

William shrugged one thin, more-tanned-than-usual shoulder at him. “I get back every once in a while,” he replied. “And I didn’t think it was time yet. Clearly neither did you. Or were you planning on rowing all the way back across the Atlantic?”

“I could have made it,” Gabe answered lazily, flashing a grin. “But no, actually, my former vessel ran into some difficulties. French ships are not so popular at the moment, in case you hadn’t heard.”

“I wonder why,” William drawled, and reached down to toss a pair of fresh boots over as well. Gabe took the hint and started stripping.

“So you’re a sailor now?” he asked, and then had to stop to laugh. William didn’t appear all that amused, so Gabe rephrased, “I mean, a sailor. You? Really?”

“I’m doing a fine job, thank you very much,” William returned. “And it was the easiest way to get to the New World.”

“You could have gone along as a colonist,” Gabe pointed out. “Free ride, less work.”

William rolled his eyes. “I can pull on a few ropes,” he said. “And so will you, shortly. I don’t imagine they’ll just let you stow away for nothing.”

“That’s fine,” Gabe replied, rolling out his shoulders and appreciating the feel – and the smell – of cloth that wasn’t stiffened by dirt and salt water. “I’ve been a sailor before. Within a century, even.”

William looked interested, but didn’t comment beyond, “And now you’re heading to the New World.”

“Been there, too,” Gabe said, grinning wider. William’s look sharpened more intently into interest, along with a touch of envy.

“When?” he asked, but they were interrupted by the bell sounding the change of shift, so William stepped reluctantly away. “We’ll talk later.”

“Tonight, by the forebitts,” Gabe called after him. “Bring your pipes.”

-

After eating enough for three meals and sleeping for what felt like a year, Gabe finally dragged himself up on deck to where the crew was clustered around the forebitts, mending gear and socializing. The forebitts was the one part of the ship seafarers universally reserved for recreation in their off-hours, which was why the songs performed there were gifted with the same name.

Gabe spotted William easily enough and made his way over, claiming the spot next to him. “I still can’t believe you’re a sailor,” he remarked, shaking his head.

“I had a craving to learn the hornpipe,” William replied. He glanced sideways, giving Gabe a once-over. “It’s a long trip to the Americas, we don’t have to do this tonight. You don’t even have an instrument.”

“I’ll borrow one,” Gabe said easily. “It looks like the men have a fine assortment. You probably have five or six stowed away.”

“Three,” William corrected, and then added casually, “I should warn you, they love me here.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Gabe returned, holding out his hands in request for the mandolin one of the crew had been plucking idly into some sort of tune. He smiled innocently. “Doesn’t mean they won’t love me more.”

“Don’t play that, it’s a travesty,” William told him. “I have a mandora you can use. Strictly foc’s’le songs, or should we set broader terms?”

“I like its sound,” Gabe lied, plucking the strings enthusiastically to watch William’s facial contortions in response. “Three forebitters each?”

William reached to the side and claimed his aforementioned mandora. “After you,” he said politely, gesturing grandly. “Since you’ve already tuned.”

William was right, the sailors did love him. They were, however, ready to pledge their unborn children to Gabe.

“It’s not an insult,” Gabe said afterward, as they sprawled on the deck cleaning gear and sipping their daily ration of alcohol. “You’ve spent too long in England, they know your songs. I’m new and exciting, they’re not bored with me yet. And I know thirty-seven verses to that last song.”

“You made up twenty-two of them on the spot,” William retorted grumpily.

Gabe rolled in toward his side, bumping their shoulders together. “Don’t be a sore loser just because I’ve had a…” He had to stop and calculate, finally coming up with, “six hundred year winning streak.”

“Be prepared for it to end,” William told him seriously, but the reluctant smile that Gabe coaxed out of him immediately afterward ruined the effect.

“Why, because you’ve never been to the New World and they’re not bored with you yet?” Gabe asked, snorting. “They’re not bored with me either.”

William pillowed his head on his arm and watched Gabe, features soft in the moonlight. “When were you there?” he asked. “Recently?”

Gabe shook his head and leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the stars. “Not since Spain arrived,” he answered, unable to completely disguise the sadness in his voice. “I was there long before mainland Europe knew there was something to discover.” He drained the rest of his cup and set it aside on the deck. “I first came across as a vikingr, and kicked around for a while. This was before you became a Christian and broke my heart,” he said sorrowfully, giving William a woeful look and receiving a kick to his shin in return.

“You’re still not letting that go,” William complained, sounding much more put-upon than Gabe suspected he actually was.

“And never will,” Gabe agreed. “It’s an error that will follow you for the rest of your days.”

“You were in Judah for decades,” William objected. “And you traveled with the Seljuqs.”

“That was entirely different from what you did,” Gabe informed him, shuddering dramatically. “ _Celibacy._ ”

William’s eyebrows rose. “I hate to break this to you,” he said slowly, “but we’re on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic. Exactly what would you call this?”

Gabe sat straight up. “Oh, no,” he objected, to William specifically and the rest of the deck in general. “No, no. That’s entirely unreasonable.”

“Where precisely do you suggest we find the privacy to do anything that won’t get us thrown off the side and back into your charming rowboat?” William asked mildly.

Gabe groaned and flopped back onto the deck. “I hate this century,” he complained. “And the one before it. And the one before that.”

“You loved the one before that,” William argued, smiling softly. “You just object to the shifting morality of old world culture.”

Gabe rolled onto his side, propped up on his elbow above William’s familiar face. “I object to anything that won’t let me kiss you right now,” he said seriously.

“I would have been too old for you in Greece,” William murmured, reaching out to trace the line of Gabe’s arm, into the sensitive skin at the crook of his elbow. “We would have been a scandal anywhere.”

“Thebes,” Gabe returned, leaning in closer and still not enough. “I could have been with you in Thebes.”

“I miss Thebes,” William said, smiling again.

Gabe groaned softly, and William laughed and touched his arm again, light and knowing. “You know what I miss?” Gabe mused. “Rome. Specifically, the baths.”

William laughed again, head tipping back and eyes closing. “That’s how I always found you, you know,” he teased. “I followed my nose to the oasis in the midst of the unwashed masses.”

Gabe growled a little with the desire to bite William’s exposed throat, and William’s eyes slit open like he knew precisely what Gabe was thinking. Then again, he was probably the one subconsciously encouraging Gabe to think it in the first place.

Gabe leaned back to give them some more distance and forced himself to relax a little. “You know what I miss?” he said with relish. “Mycenaeans. And India, centuries ago. When the women all went around bare-breasted and flaunting it.”

William looked startled, then torn between similar nostalgic appreciation and annoyance. Gabe laughed at him and tugged William’s unkempt hair lightly when he predictably bristled.

“I would trade any of them for you in a heartbeat,” he murmured. “Entire civilizations, even.”

“It’s why I stay away so long,” William replied, laughter touching the corners of his eyes. “So you remember to miss me.”

“You’d trade civilizations for me, too,” Gabe challenged, poking the soft curve of William’s stomach. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t. You’d get rid of the Aztecs.”

William made a low growling noise in his throat that Gabe really shouldn’t have found as arousing as he did. “I hated the Aztecs.”

“I know you did,” Gabe laughed, leaning forward enough to bump their noses together, resisting further temptation than that brief moment of contact. “You weren’t even there.”

“You were,” William replied, fingertips playing idly with the hem of Gabe’s shirt. If William really didn’t want them thrown off this ship, Gabe thought, they both needed to go to separate areas of the deck soon. “That’s where you were when I was in Ghazni, wasn’t it?”

Gabe frowned, distracted from the speech he’d been about to give about the Inca and the Maya by that nugget of information. “You were in Ghazni?”

“Focus,” William ordered, laughing, and Gabe couldn’t stand it anymore, he grabbed William’s wrist and pulled him up off the deck. William tripped along behind him, confused but willing enough. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private,” Gabe said, navigating the capstan and nodding to sailors as they passed. “For at least forty-five seconds, all of which I plan to thoroughly make the most of.”

William’s hand brushed against him in a way that could have been passed off as entirely innocent and definitely wasn’t. “That reminds me,” he said idly, close enough for his hair to tickle Gabe’s neck. “Are you all that set on going to the New World right away?”

Gabe turned, searching William’s face in the dim light. “Why?” he asked, intrigued when he perhaps should have been more wary, considering the sly look on William’s face. “What did you have in mind?”

-

  


-

 _Port Phillip, 1822 C.E._

  
“You have got to be kidding me,” Gabe said. “A _didgeridoo?_ ”

William gave the instrument a thorough inspection, checking the rim and sugarbag with every sign of being completely serious. “It’s quite possibly the oldest wind instrument in existence,” he replied, peering down the length of the enormous piece of wood. “It’s fitting for the particular nature of our contest, don’t you think?”

“What are we judging, who can make the most noise with it?” Gabe asked, rapping the solid exterior with his knuckles, prompting William to look up from his investigations to glare at him.

“Who can play it the longest,” William answered, brushing Gabe’s hand out of his way. “And who can play it well. The Bunurong clan who manufactured it has expressed wholehearted willingness to listen and judge for us.”

“Oh, I’ll bet they have,” Gabe said, wincing. The way colonial relations were going, he was surprised the clan hadn’t immediately volunteered to spear the two of them with pointy sticks. Making fun of them attempting to blow sound through a tree trunk was more of a pacifist approach, but the intent still seemed the same.

William looked up at him with a grin, and Gabe’s chest did a weird thing that it really shouldn’t still be doing after this much prolonged exposure to that smile. “We have a lesson with the instrument maker,” he said. “If you want to brush up on your skills.”

“This is going to be a catastrophe,” Gabe said cheerfully, but he wasn’t about to say no to that look on William’s face. Naturally it had more to do with the spirit of competition than with anything else. Gabe wasn’t one to walk away from a challenge.

“The first thing we learn is circular breathing,” William said, nearly straight-faced but with a twinkle in his eye that let Gabe know in no uncertain terms how he was imagining that ability might later be put into use.

They’d been at sea for a long time. Gabe curled a friendly hand around William’s elbow and steered him in the direction of their waiting tutor. “Lead on.”

-

They were abysmal. They were worse than abysmal; they were _excruciating._

Gabe couldn’t deny it was fun, though. Both of them eventually got the hang of circular breathing – centuries of playing wind instruments all over the world had to be good for something – and while neither of them could sustain it for a particularly long time, they managed the correct vibration of their lips needed to produce the desired harmonics.

After listening to them make horrific amounts of noise for an hour, their tutor started demonstrating various animal sounds and how to mimic them through the instrument. Gabe turned out to have a fairly brilliant dingo impression, but when he attempted the same thing while playing the didgeridoo, the resulting blat of sound was so startling that William actually fell off his bench and onto the ground laughing.

“I dare you to do better,” Gabe defended, his lips still buzzing from the vibration and swollen into something like a constant pout. William’s mouth was looking similarly affected and particularly luscious, which wasn’t something Gabe could dwell on in the presence of a wrinkled sixty-year-old man huffing into a tree trunk.

William stood up, dusted himself off with dignity, and somehow – neither Gabe nor their tutor could actually believe it – produced a pitch-perfect replication of a laughing kookaburra through the droning didgeridoo.

Gabe took a second to get over his dismay, then broke into sincere applause and stood up. “That’s it,” he announced. “I declare you the winner. Fuck knows you’ll never be able to do that again, and I’m ready for dinner.”

William protested, and they did in fact spend another hour hanging around trying to repeat the sound, but neither of them could get it and their attempts were clearly degenerating the longer they tried, so they finally abandoned their lesson as the sun was sinking low on the horizon. Their tutor played as entertainment during dinner, and Gabe took turns with William playing the dilma in elaborate patterns to keep percussive time, which they were both considerably better at than playing the didgeridoo.

Gabe did his dingo impression anyway, and when William threw back his head and laughed, Gabe couldn’t honestly remember why he cared about anything but this.

-

“You let me win,” William accused late that night, when they had fallen to the ground in their guest bough-shelter naked and hopelessly entangled. “You didn’t even let someone else declare me the victor.”

“I didn’t let you win,” Gabe said honestly, hands roaming all over William’s pale, bare skin. “That was a fucking amazing kookaburra, you deserved this round.”

William settled solid and warm between Gabe’s legs, rubbing against him in a way that promised more athletic activities in the very near future. “You could have argued your case,” he pointed out. “Played with more resonance, sustained the sound for longer.”

“You were just as good as I was,” Gabe said, nuzzling his throat only partially because it was a distraction, and mostly just because it was there and he couldn’t resist. “It would have been a toss-up.”

“So you made sure we stayed tied,” William replied, clearly not distracted enough yet. “So that there was a final round.”

Gabe stroked William’s throat, squeezed lightly with just enough pressure to make William shut up. “You won,” he murmured against William’s still-swollen lips. “Enjoy the victory.”

It wasn’t until much later after that, when they were both sated and spent, sweat cooling rapidly as the desert night fell, that William spoke up again.

“If it had been the other way around,” he said softly against Gabe’s shoulder, the rest of him completely still and calm draped over Gabe’s naked body, “I think I would have let you win, too.”

Gabe pressed a kiss to William’s damp forehead, and didn’t bother to answer.

-

  


-

 _Honolulu, 1942 C.E._

  
It wasn’t a surprise at all to find William in a USO dance hall, a glass in hand and foot tapping absently along with the band onstage. The clothes he was wearing were more of a shock.

“You’ve enlisted,” Gabe said, sliding up next to William at the bar. It wasn’t a question; even with the draft, William could have dismissed anyone trying to make him do something with a single thought. Gabe leaned against the bar to take it in, the uniform and the short-cropped regulation haircut. Everything about it was new and gleaming, the buttons and shoe polish shining too bright in the well-lit room.

William’s hum of acknowledgment was absent, but affirmative. Gabe waited him out, let him tap his brand-new boot sole against the polished wooden floor a few more times and come around to it on his own.

“It’s a cause I believe in,” William said, without looking at him. “I don’t want to sing songs about what’s happening in Europe now. I don’t want to write the words for all of that grief.”

“We’ve lived through worse wars than this,” Gabe reminded him. “We’ve watched the world tear itself to pieces around us almost more times than I can count.”

“I know,” William answered, and finally met Gabe’s eyes. He looked weary; more tired than Gabe could remember seeing him. His smile was wan when he said, “Maybe I’m just tired of watching.”

Gabe wanted very much in that moment to kiss him. He settled for brushing William’s cheek with the back of his knuckle, and drinking in the sight of William’s eyes fluttering closed at the touch.

“It’s still not your fight,” Gabe said, as if that could make a difference or change William’s mind.

“Don’t try to pretend you’ve never gotten involved,” William chided, but gently. “I know you were at Montevideo.”

“That was different,” Gabe protested. “I just happened to be there.”

“And happened not to leave,” William said, smiling, which was also true. Not the whole story, but still true.

The band started another song, bright with brass, signaling a jitterbug on the dance floor. Everything in the hall was incongruously upbeat; soldiers looking forward to glory when all they would find was death, and war brides too in love to realize that most of them would become war widows. He wondered how many of them William would get to know by name before they met their ends.

“When do you leave?” he asked, voice low and gravel-rough.

“My unit ships out tomorrow,” William answered, opening his eyes again. He studied Gabe’s face for a moment, and then said quietly, “We both know I can’t die over there.”

Gabe swallowed against the desperation clawing at his throat, and let his hand fall, seeking automatic comfort by curling around his glass sitting on the bar. “Maybe not your body,” he admitted, and wondered how long he could hold this moment, if he never saw William again; if he never saw him like _this_ , still young and shining so brightly from inside that it almost hurt to look at him. “But war can kill your soul.”

William’s hand found his, their palms pressing hard together. “I’ll find you again,” he promised. “It’s not forever.”

Gabe’s fingers curled around William’s, briefly, before he pulled them away. “Stay with me tonight,” he said, swallowing again to clear his throat. “Before you leave.”

William smiled at him, too soft for Gabe to look at directly, and tossed a bill onto the counter before stepping away to follow Gabe out the door.

-

They were still exchanging kisses at dawn, slow and lethargic, the passion of hours past finally run down into exhaustion and quietude.

“Tell me when to meet you,” William whispered. His mouth was wet and red from Gabe’s tongue, their skin still sliding damply with every movement. “Tell me, and I’ll be there.”

Gabe had to think about it, but not for long. “The turn of the century,” he decided, fitting his palms to the familiar angles of William’s hips, his ribs, the secret curves of his elbows. “It’s been a while since I watched the birth of a millennium with you.” He couldn’t wait another six hundred years this time, or even a hundred. He could barely wait sixty.

William’s eyes were too knowing, the way they always were. “I have to go,” he murmured, as dawn finally broke over the horizon and spilled harsh golden light through the blinds and onto the pillows, painting dark streaks of shadow across William’s pale skin.

“You don’t have to,” Gabe argued, more of a token protest than anything real. William knew it, too, his fingers brushing back a stray curl, the touch simple and soothing.

“I do,” he said softly.

Gabe leaned down and kissed him again.

-

  


-

 _Chicago, 2001 C.E._

  
Gabe rang in the new century with all the fanfare it deserved and then some, but he did it alone, and trying not to think too hard about that fact. His skin itched with the need for music, but he was sick of solitude and craved company, so he found a band and a sound and made the kids weep for joy at their shows.

William showed up in the pit at a concert somewhere in Illinois, and for a second Gabe didn’t even believe it was him, convinced his mind was playing tricks. Then he missed a chord and William smiled, like the sun breaking through the clouds, and Gabe sang to him for the entire rest of the show.

“You’re late,” he said by way of greeting when William found him outside in the back alley afterwards. And young; William couldn’t have been more than seventeen now, and maybe not even that. “Your aim was a little off this time.”

William just shrugged one shoulder, careless and unheeding. “I’m here now,” he said. Gabe pressed him against the brick wall and kissed him.

He kept kissing him even after one of his band mates not-so-subtly cleared his throat, after the flurry of whispering from the mouth of the alley, after the aggrieved complaint from his drummer, all the way up until William started laughing too hard for Gabe to suck on his tongue anymore.

“Dude,” Rob said from a reasonable distance away, politely disbelieving. “ _Dude._ ”

“What?” Gabe growled at William, who’d started laughing anew. “North American culture has come a long way in sixty years. They might not be throwing bouquets at weddings yet, but I don’t have to hide you in a locked room somewhere. This isn’t illegal.”

William tipped his chin up, smiling wide and innocent. “I’m sixteen,” he said.

Gabe didn’t see the point in this delay, and wasn’t afraid to show his displeasure with it as he leaned in and started nuzzling William’s pale throat. “So?” he mumbled.

William’s slim frame shook with laughter under his hands. “I’m underage,” he said, and Gabe pulled back to stare at him with an expression of complete disbelief.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Gabe said darkly. The irony of the situation – that William was now considered _too young_ for him by the human infants passing judgment on them – was not lost on him one bit.

“ _Dude,_ ” Rob said again, with slightly more insistence.

“Fuck,” Gabe said, and tangled his fingers with William’s. “You couldn’t have come a little earlier? A little older?” He leaned in for another kiss, because fuck Rob’s maidenly sensibilities, William’s _mouth._ He murmured, lips against lips like a secret, “Where have you been?”

William’s hand curved over his jaw, sliding up into his hair to soothe stray curls. “I needed to start over,” he said softly, and his eyes were so old in that moment that Gabe didn’t believe anyone could have been fooled by his skin. “I just didn’t realize that was what I needed until it was too late to catch up and meet you.”

Gabe understood that. He understood that all too well. “You’re coming with us,” he declared, pulling William gently away from the wall into his arms, turning to lead him back to the loading dock and the van. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

-

“So you have a band,” Gabe pressed, because as willing as he’d been to let the competition drop in Australia, having William back here now made his bones thrum with the possibility of it.

“I have a solo project,” William corrected, eating another of Gabe’s french fries from the greasy diner special they were calling dinner tonight. “You and I have never brought in other people before.”

“Venice,” Gabe reminded him, but William waved a hand as if to say that wasn’t the same thing at all, and Gabe couldn’t really argue. “Fair enough. You want me to lose the band?”

“No,” William said slowly, thoughtful. “I think I’ll make one, too.”

“Tomorrow night?” Gabe asked, dipping a fry in ketchup before William’s quick little fingers could make off with it. “Next week?”

William rolled his eyes. “How long did you have to put this together?” he asked, gesturing toward the rest of Gabe’s band, chilling together in another booth. “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

“You can take as long as you like, you’re never going to beat me,” Gabe said confidently. He felt like he couldn’t lose, now. Like no matter what happened, there was no possible way he wouldn’t come out on top. “Ten years?”

William rolled his eyes. “I’ll find you again,” he promised, lips curling up in a slow smile. “You’ll know.”

-

“I’ve won,” Gabe crowed, doing a little victory dance of a spin in the disaster zone of their green room. “You’re opening for me. I have a _bus._ Admit it, I’ve won.”

William hummed his thoughtful, noncommittal hum and flipped a page in his magazine, which featured Gabe and Gabe’s band in a rather prominent display. “I’m not finished yet,” he replied. “You got a head start.”

“You were late,” Gabe corrected, but he didn’t push the matter any further. If William wanted to stick around for a while, Gabe wasn’t going to stop him. “How long do you want? Another tour? Another album?”

William cocked his head and looked at Gabe, considering. “Another year,” he said finally. “One more year.”

“Fine,” Gabe agreed easily, magnanimous in the face of certain victory. “But I’ll still have won.”

William hummed again. Gabe cackled to himself and broke open a celebratory bottle of vodka.

-

Gabe’s band imploded. William’s band, on the other hand, gathered momentum and vision like he was soaking it up from the stage beneath his feet every night and waking up to it every morning.

William’s band had a bus.

“I suppose you think you’ve won now,” Gabe said, with ill spirits but a cursory show of good grace.

William opened his new magazine, unsubtly displaying the spread of his band and their album on the glossy pages. “I think I still have a band,” he pointed out smugly.

“You haven’t had as much time to annoy each other,” Gabe retorted. “Give it another few years, we’ll both be back to solo projects.”

William shut his magazine and looked at Gabe over the cover. “All right,” he said finally. “That’s fair. You have more performance experience in this century, and I have more familiarity with this group of musicians. Shall we start this round over?”

Gabe gaped for a second, then realized the chance he was being given and started patting himself down for his phone. “You’re on,” he called over his shoulder, tucking the phone under his ear as he muttered to himself, “Three and three. Deuce.”

-

His first attempt at putting together a new band was minimally successful. William listened to him rant, offered less-than-helpful suggestions, and even sang on his first single, although that was technically promotion for both of them.

After the chemistry on that endeavor went sour – and William was right about familiarity with the group being an advantage – he located Victoria.

“I’m not a muse,” she told him, cool and perfect in the New York morning. “How do you think I’ll help you, exactly?”

“You’re a siren,” he answered, grinning back at her. “You just do what you do. Trust me, it’ll help.” And in the meantime, it would also make William crazy knowing she was around him constantly, which was an added bonus. Gabe had somehow never quite gotten over his enjoyment at seeing William riled.

“You know,” Victoria purred, examining her gorgeously-filed nails, “that threesome can still be arranged.”

“I am on it like you wouldn’t believe,” Gabe told her. Even if William didn’t go for it, there was still a good chance it would prompt a hell of a reaction. Gabe sensed he would win either way.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll sing for you. No longer than a century.”

“Deal,” he promised, and they clasped hands to seal the bargain.

“Musical victory is ours,” he whooped, and went to see about supporting William’s band on tour.

-

Gabe’s band was nominated for an MTV award, and their song was played on every pop station and clothing store mix-tape in the country.

“Admit it,” he said, straddling a chair and leaning forward to grin at William. “I’ve won.”

“We didn’t set a time limit,” William replied, calmly enough for someone who must have seen the music charts lately. “My band is just gaining renown more gradually.”

“How much longer do you need?” Gabe asked graciously, coming over to where William was standing, leaning in with a hand braced against the wall.

William’s gaze turned thoughtful, then secretive. Gabe wanted to know everything he was thinking, what and when and why. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. He smiled, a tiny curl of his lips, and said, “I like it here. I was thinking about sticking around for a while.”

Gabe thought back over four thousand years of memories, to his first glimpse of William standing pale and untouched in the Mesopotamian sun. “Yeah?” he said, leaning in to taste William’s lips, trace the shape of his jaw beneath Gabe’s fingertips. “That’s been my plan all along.”


End file.
